


hay latidos que no pueden morir

by Lire_Casander



Series: gotas en un laberinto [4]
Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mentions of Alcohol Abuse, Mentions of past drug abuse, mentions of gangs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:48:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28810638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lire_Casander/pseuds/Lire_Casander
Summary: carlos has been coming back to an empty home for half a week
Relationships: Carlos Reyes/TK Strand
Series: gotas en un laberinto [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2112216
Comments: 14
Kudos: 104
Collections: Carlos Reyes Week 2021





	hay latidos que no pueden morir

**Author's Note:**

> beta’ed by [meloingly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meloingly). any remaining mistakes are my own
> 
> title from _la espera_ by maldita nerea. it roughly translates into _there are heartbeats that cannot die_
> 
> written for [carlos reyes week 2021](https://carlosreyesweek.tumblr.com/post/631367369198092288/announcing-carlos-reyes-week), **_day #4: “you’ve come so far” + future + tk and carlos romance_**

There’s a comfort in coming back to a silent home after a wild shift that Carlos used to cherish every time. He used to like turning on the lights as he stepped inside, the keys clinking as he dropped them on their platter by the door, the soft noises of his bare feet after he kicked off his shoes. He used to enjoy flopping down on the couch and surfing his Netflix queue before ordering some pizza from the closet place. 

He used to _love_ being by himself. 

Now, after pulling the second twenty-four-hour shift in a week, Carlos is dreading coming back home to an empty condo. 

He’s been doing his best to avoid being alone these days, but sometimes he can’t stop the loneliness creeping in, following him step by step until he’s inserting his key in his lock and pushing his door open, revealing a dark space behind. Carlos hasn’t been aware of how much he’s been relying on TK's presence in his life — on the way his smile lights up _everything_ even through the darkest times — until he’s found himself staring at the void on the couch for the fifth day this week.

He’s tried so hard. He’s allowed his partner to sign them up for overtime — given that the precinct is running low on actives after an altercation involving several police cruisers and a tank rolling down Austin’s streets as though they were an active war zone — and he’s accepted Marjan’s invitation to join them at the bar for the past three days. He’s still looking at two more days of overworking and dinner at Judd’s, but deep inside he just feels as lost as he thought he’d be. 

It feels as though he’s lost the beacon he has been unconsciously following for the past two years, seven months, three weeks, four days and — he checks his wristwatch — what looks like five hours and twenty-seven minutes. Not that he’s counting.

But this is the first time in all those seconds together that he’s been apart from TK for longer than a shift or a hospital visit — and there have been a few in these past years, what with TK being accident-prone and Carlos plunging into danger head-first, and both being in a line of job that demanded bravery and sacrifice from them every single moment. And Carlos is a police officer studying and training to become a detective; he shouldn’t be feeling this defeated when he lies on their bed and the pillow still smells like TK.

And yet, he slips out of his sneakers with a soft sigh, fighting the urge to just lie down on the cool floor and sleep there, and ambles through the place turning up the lights as he walks, until he reaches the kitchen. He rummages through the fridge with no real intention of taking anything out whatsoever — he’s just making sure it looks like he won’t die from starvation if either his mother or Owen wind up knocking a storm on his front door. They’re known for having tried to pull up a stunt like that the last time TK had been admitted into the hospital — and the last time Carlos himself had been a victim of his own job and ended up with a dislocated shoulder and three broken fingers after a chase gone awry.

He closes the door of the fridge with a huff, deeming its contents suitable for an external inspection, and moves over to the nearest counter, where he’s put a bowl with a few bananas and some apples this morning — or was it yesterday morning, he can’t be sure anymore, he’s so tired — and picks up one randomly. He ends up with a banana that looks like it’s seen better days.

“Fantastic,” he mutters under his breath, peeling it off and finding out it’s, after all, edible. He munches on it absent-mindedly, going as far as sitting down on one of the kitchen stools, lost in his own thoughts — or lack thereof — when the ringing of his own cell phone almost gives him a heart attack.

He jumps to his feet and starts sticking his free hand into his pockets, twisting and turning to get his fingers into the correct spot where his phone is blasting up and vibrating so much that it’s starting to give him cramps on his leg. Finally, he’s able to fish it out, almost dropping it in his haste to pick up the call, and not once thinking about dropping the banana instead.

There’s a familiar and loved picture showing the caller ID. He presses on the green button on the screen and clicks on the speaker icon so the voice at the other end fills the emptiness of the room.

“Hello, my love,” comes TK’s voice, sweeping all the dark thoughts and lonely feelings off Carlos’ soul with just three normal greeting words. “Sorry I can’t FaceTime tonight, I don’t think I have enough battery for even a long call, and I can’t find my _damned_ charger.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he retaliates, already basking in the glow he can _hear_ in TK’s voice. “Relax, the charger’s there somewhere. Maybe underneath the stack of papers on the hotel room’s table.”

“How do you—” TK laughs, cutting himself, and Carlos thinks he might actually die if he doesn’t get to hear that sound next to him in person. He leaves the banana on the counter momentarily. “I hate it when you know exactly how I work.” 

“Don't lie, baby,” Carlos teases, the previous sadness dissolving as TKʼs voice fills him with warmth. “You love it.” 

“I love _you_ ,” TK clarifies. “I hate being so far from you.” 

Carlos sighs into the microphone. “Me too, but you're where you're supposed to be, TK. You're helping people.” 

TK makes a noncommittal sound that sends Carlos back to this very same conversation, held three weeks before this very moment, when TK had told him about an initiative from the different Chiefs in Texas to keep kids out of the streets and away from the dangers of drugs and alcohol and gangs. Heʼd encouraged the firefighter to be part of it — to talk about his experiences to prevent others from making the same mistakes. Carlos hadn't anticipated missing TK so much after only four days of the firefighter tour through the state — heʼd been giving speeches in different cities up north. 

“I just don't know.” TK sounds defeated o the other end of this phone call, as though he’s holding the weight of the whole world on his shoulders. “I keep thinking it isn’t enough.” 

“ _You’re_ enough.” 

“I still have cravings, Carlos,” TK whispers on the phone. “I feel like such a fraud.” 

“You’re _not_ a fraud. I wouldn’t allow anyone to say such things about you, not even yourself, Ty.” Carlos catches himself before he dives into a heated diatribe. “Youʼve come so far, love. Don’t let anyone make you believe otherwise. Not even TK Strand.” 

TK chuckles. “What have I done to deserve a man like you, Carlos Reyes?” 

“Well, I could ask the same about you.” Carlos leans into the counter, his elbows supporting his weight, the banana completely forgotten now that he has TK for himself. “I think we were meant to meet each other at that moment. To find ourselves and to move forward together.” 

“You’re such a sap.” 

“But you love me.” 

“But I love you.”

Carlos can hear the faintest of a smile in TKʼs voice as he goes on about his day, interrupting his own tirade to announce that he found his charger, so they can switch to FaceTime. And maybe it isn’t the same as them sharing their bed or their kitchen or their couch, but it feels a lot like sharing a dream and a future and a life. 

It feels like coming home.


End file.
